Clement regarded Keith Finch with plenty of sympathy, but also with a cool, analytical glance. Naturally, no father would be willing to believe that their son could strangle a young girl then hang himself afterwards. So it was no surprise that this man had insisted on a second, discreet investigation.
But the man was also an experienced police officer, used to sifting evidence and always observant and vigilant. Was his desire to see his son’s reputation cleared based on more than merely wishful thinking? Well, they would soon find out. Clement cleared his throat, and said, ‘You are the father of the deceased?’
‘I am.’ The tall, brown-haired man glanced at Clement curiously. Although he’d asked specifically for this man’s unique talents to be let loose on his son’s case, he’d never actually had occasion to meet or talk with him before. And as he met the old vulture’s gaze, he hoped that he hadn’t misjudged this man. It was taking everything he had to take a back seat in this affair when everything in him was screaming at him to take an active part in the Iris Carmody case, and thus clear his boy of suspicion.
But he knew he couldn’t do it. Instead, he was going to have to rely on this former-surgeon-turned-coroner, and a still-green WPC, to pull off another miracle.
And he could only hope and pray that they could do it.
Now, looking into the sharp grey eyes of the coroner, he could see nothing in them but calm appraisal, with no hint of acknowledgement of their shared secret.
All in all, he felt assured that he’d done the right thing.
‘You were called by your colleagues in order to positively identify the deceased as your son, David Finch?’ Clement Ryder began briskly.
The Superintendent stiffened slightly at this sudden and painful question, then nodded curtly. ‘I did. I wouldn’t ask my wife to do so. She was naturally distraught.’ The staccato sentences came out of him in flat, hard tones.
There was a slight shifting of bums on seats at this, and a ripple of sympathy and pity cut through the pervading atmosphere of avid curiosity somewhat. Finally, the people around him were beginning to see the witness as a grieving father, not a police officer mixed up in scandal.
‘Quite so. And I’d like to extend the sympathies of the court to your wife,’ Clement said calmly. ‘Prior to your son’s death, had you noticed any changes in his behaviour?’
The police officer slowly nodded. He’d been prepared for this, of course, and saw it as his golden opportunity to at least try to put the record straight for his dead son, who could no longer speak up for himself. And although, in the quiet desperate hours of the previous night, he’d rehearsed in his head many times what he might say in this moment, now that the time had actually come he felt terrified that he might fail. But he could only tell the truth, simple and unadorned, and hope that they believed it.
‘Naturally. The girl he was stepping out with had been brutally murdered, and David was distraught.’
Excited whispering immediately broke out in the court, and Clement leapt on it at once. ‘Silence!’ he thundered. ‘If members of the public can’t conduct themselves with decency and decorum then I am going to clear the room.’
There was instant silence. Although most members of the public didn’t know Dr Ryder from Adam, such was his tone of voice that none of them doubted he would carry through with his threat.
In his seat, Duncan Gillingham smiled knowingly. During his career, he’d seen other coroners make the same threat, but by and large they tended to be empty, used simply as a means of making the court settle down. But he’d been present once when Clement Ryder had actually ordered the ushers to remove all but the relevant staff and witnesses, caring not a jot for the animosity it had earned him from the people being evicted. Ryder’s arrogance and indifference hadn’t surprised him – he’d long since come to the conclusion that the former surgeon probably believed his word was now literally law.
Not that Duncan wasn’t willing to concede that, when it came to this particular man, he held something of a grudge. He was still smarting from the way he’d sabotaged his growing relationship with a certain, luscious WPC for a start.
Clement, removing his scowl from the public gallery, turned back to his witness. ‘You say David was distraught. Did he ever indicate to you that he was in such despair that he might think of ending his own life?’
The court seemed to hold its collective breath as it waited for the reply – but wisely made no other sound.
Superintendent Finch flinched slightly. He took a deep breath, then shook his head; his voice, when he finally spoke, was a little rough but firm.
‘No, he did not. And I believe I would have seen the signs had he been thinking of taking such a dreadful action.’
Clement made no comment, but he had to wonder – just how many other parents of suicidal children had testified to the same thing? And was it really possible to know another being so completely, that you could be so sure of anything?
Then he thought of his own children – grown up now, and gone from home. He didn’t see them that often, but he thought he would know if anything was seriously wrong. Or was that just wishful thinking on his part?
‘At first he was obviously upset and grieving,’ Keith Finch carried on, ‘but in the last few days of his life he became, if anything, more angry than despairing.’ At this, he glanced across at the press gallery defiantly. Some of those who’d submitted articles hinting at other things couldn’t quite meet his eyes, but the older, more seasoned professionals had no such trouble.
In her own seat, Trudy felt her heart go out to this man. It must be awful
